Words I Can Never Say
by Cybra
Summary: It's Mother's Day, and Arnold again tries to say the words he can never say. *Minor editing done. Thanks to DropsofJupiter for pointing out my mistake!*


Words I Can Never Say  
By Cybra

A/N: I know, I know. You guys were expecting Chapter 7 of "The Secret". Well, I decided to write this Mother's Day vignette. I've never seen the episode "Parents Day" (darn it!), but I felt suddenly inspired to do this. Folks, be lucky for what you have and go give your mama a hug!

Disclaimer: Hey Arnold! is Craig Barlett's, not mine. But soon…_very_ soon…I shall rule the world and make Hey Arnold! one of the TV shows I give their own channel to! BWAHAHAHAHAHA!

"Hey, guys!" I greet them, waving. "Where're you going?"

They suddenly start fidgeting, as if they're not sure what to say to me.

"We're going to Mrs. Vitello's…" Gerald begins.

"…to buy flowers…" Stinky continues.

"…for our moms," Sid finishes.

Harold cheerfully adds, "Yeah! It's Mother's Day on Sunday, and we want to get them something – Oof!"

Gerald doesn't think I see him jabbing Harold in the side with his elbow, but I do. I refrain from comment, pretending I didn't see it.

At the same time, I suddenly feel awkward. I clear my throat and say in as cheerful a voice as possible, "Sounds great! I guess I'll see you later!"

Before anyone can say anything, I turn and I walk away, putting the situation behind me.

It's not the first time this has happened to me. Every Mother's Day it's the same routine over and over: My friends buy gifts for their moms, and I buy a gift for my grandma and add another gift to the stockpile I've been saving up over the past seven years.

My mom's missed seven Mother's Days, but I don't blame her. She went to help people, and that's the important thing.

Maybe it's selfish, but I want her and Dad to just come home. There's a void in my heart that no amount of helping people can fill, a bottomless pit that just won't go away.

I walk up to my room, barely pausing to say "hello" to my grandparents or the boarders. They don't say anything about it. They know the five days of the year that I'm in this kind of mood: my parents' birthdays, the day after Christmas, Mother's Day, and Father's Day.

I grab the remote control off my desk along with a small package and use the couch to get behind the wall of my attic room. I turn a few corners until I reach a tiny room. It's kind of a little secret compartment that I've kept stashed with the gifts I've been saving for Mom and Dad for when they finally come home.

I clap my hands and the light comes on. It's a little shrine, I guess. Or rather, three shrines. One for Mom, one for Dad, and one for both of them in the middle.

Faded wrapping paper with faded bows covering gifts bought long ago give a dim glow in the gloom. Some have "Happy Birthday" cards still attached, others have the inevitable Christmas, Mother's Day, and Father's Day cards.

I nod to Dad's picture, wishing I could hug a greeting to him, but knowing it was impossible. Beside his picture is a copy of one of his degrees and a Monopoly game piece (the shoe, his favorite piece).

I then turn to Mom's picture. Sitting next to her picture is one of her old hair ribbons and even a rose Dad once gave her. The rose has been dried for quite some time but, by some miracle, has stayed together.

There's no real ceremony to what I do on the five days that haunt me the most. I just talk and let their pictures listen.

"Hi, Mom," I begin, choking on that second word. "How've things been…wherever you are? You and Dad holding out okay?"

I don't know why I ask that question every single time, but I do. It's not like the picture can _answer_ me.

"It's going okay here." I did my best to smile at the frozen image of her smile. "It's tough without you here, but I'll manage until…you get back."

Darn it! My throat's tightening! I don't want to cry! Not now!

"I know tomorrow's Mother's Day, but I'm going with Grandma, Grandpa, and the boarders to celebrate by spending the day together. So I decided to give you your gift a little early."

I hold out the small package for her to "see". Some part of my mind thinks it odd that I try to seek approval from a picture.

Mom's smile remained frozen on her face.

"I hope you like it…when you get to open it. I'm not going to tell you what it is. It'll just spoil the surprise."

Some traitorous part of my mind demands, _'Am I finally going crazy? Am I finally losing it? Is **this** what I've been reduced to: Talking to **photographs** of people not even here?!**'**_

There's a lump in my throat, and my throat tightens around it. I start to tremble as I set the gift down on the pile.

"I hope…I hope…"

I can't finish my sentence. My vocal chords just refuse to work.

I stare down at the assemblage of gifts in front of me. I don't even remember half of what I've gotten her. Still, I refuse to open any of them. They're _Mom's,_ not mine.

I swallow and try again. "I hope…you come home soon." I sniffle. "I mean, I didn't get you chocolate, so it won't spoil…but I miss you. I love you."

My vision's blurring. Tears are starting to gather at the corners of my eyes.

I can't cry now! I need to say it this time!

I take a deep breath. It's now or never.

"I love you, Mom. You, too, Dad." I fidget, still sniffling. "Ha-Happy…Mother's…"

I can't finish it. I can never finish it. No matter how many times I try to say one of those five phrases, I can't finish the words.

I turn around quickly, clapping my hands again to turn off the light. I stumble around those corners I passed earlier and back to the couch, hop on it, and press the appropriate button on the remote control. The couch flips into my room obediently.

I literally crawl off my couch, across the room, and onto my bed. I don't have the energy to walk anymore.

As I curl up into a tight ball, silently sobbing, I think of the words of one of the phrases I can never bring myself to say aloud:

'Happy Mother's Day, Mom.'


End file.
